The Knight Templar
by Angstosaur
Summary: Written for reel Torchwood, this is based on the Val Kilmer movie, 'The Saint'. Jack Harkness wasn't his real name - he'd forgotten who he really was, until he tried to con a Welsh scientist. The aftermath of his betrayal and his attempts to save a man called Ianto Jones helped him find his true self once more.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

The other boys were right, it was all his fault.

When he was fifteen he was caught kissing another boy, a fellow American called Jack Harkness. The other boys had been shocked, they knew that Harkness had a girlfriend in the village and they all blamed him for what happened next. Despite knowing that it wasn't true, that Jack had been just as keen as he was – they'd been holding hands in secret for weeks before they'd risked anything more - the boy took full responsibility and accepted his punishment. The priest who'd found them beat him viciously with the cane, but he didn't cry out. He'd then been locked up in his dorm, alone, whilst the other boys had their supper.

If he hadn't made such a fuss about being starved, Harkness wouldn't have taken the risk. But he had, he'd yelled for all to hear about the injustice and hammered on the door with his shoes. How was he to know that Harkness had stolen some bread and an apple, stuffed the food inside his shirt and had then climbed out of the window of the adjacent dorm, onto the ledge, intent on coming to his aid? The romance of the stories of the crusades and the knights braving all manner of perils to assist their brothers in arms had been a fantasy they'd shared growing up in the orphanage. But that didn't stop it being his fault. He was to blame for Harkness falling to his death.

Looking back, his actual childhood had been almost unremittingly bleak, apart from the adventures sparked by trashy paperbacks that fed the lives he lived inside his head. Losing his parents when he was ten, he'd then been separated from his little brother, Gray. Dr John Smith, the man who claimed to be their guardian, abandoned them at St Francis' orphanage on the outskirts of Dublin. The doctor had turned his back on them at the cast iron gates and never turned back. It wasn't long before Gray was taken in by a foster family and, even though the older boy had desperately tried to hold onto his little brother's hand and not let him go, they'd been dragged apart. That was the last time he saw Gray.

Having lost so much, it wasn't such a hardship to let go of his old identity when he reached the age of eighteen. As the boy left the orphanage, Jack Harkness was reborn, so that he would never forget the price others paid for his foolishness.

 **Chapter 1**

On a cold autumn night, a rally was underway in a vast square in the centre of St Petersburg in Russia. Hand painted banners proclaimed 'Vote Saksonski!' and pictures of the man himself were plastered on billboards. Grigori Sahkzonski had made his fortune with oil and gas, yet another Russian oligarch risen to power after leaving behind his Communist Party links. The billionaire had the resources to challenge the Russian President and his own security force to protect him.

"In I917 Lenin stood here and promised a new age. The result? Tyranny. Poverty!" Saksonski declared loudly. "The darkest years in our history."

Standing on a platform behind a cluster of microphones, his image projected on a huge screen above and behind him, Grigori Sahkzonski commanded authority. His appearance was clean cut, his fair hair cut short, but his fierce, dark brown eyes glinted with cunning as his voice cut through the night air.

"In 1987 Gorbachev stood here and promised a new age. The result? An end to communism. Democracy. A free economy. And what else? Chaos."

The throngs cheered ardently.

"The economy run by criminals, the government run by charlatans. And they are in league together! Thieves! Traitors! Men and women of St. Petersburg, citizens of Russia, the salt of this country, this must end! Let's take up the challenge – a beating of drums to match the beating of our hearts."

He rhythmically tapped the podium in front of him, as if beating on that drum, beats of four repeated over and over, growing in intensity.

"Join me then in the song of our forefathers."

As Sahkzonski sang out the first verse of "Mother Russia", the Russian anthem before the Bolsheviks, the crowd joined him. Before long the streets were filled with the sound of the voices of thousands upon thousands of Russians, willing to follow a man who promised them a better future.

xxxxxx

Meanwhile, whilst everyone was distracted by the rally, a break-in was in progress. A figure in black: snug-fitting black leather jacket, dark jeans and a dark turtle neck sweater, wearing a back pack. The boy that had taken the name Jack Harkness had grown up to be a hard, self-reliant, con man. There had been a time when he showed compassion and had loved freely, but no longer. The man cutting a large hole in the glass façade of the high rise modern hotel building, using a sophisticated diamond cutter, was a man who gave no quarter. Ever. Even though he gave the outward appearance of a genial, outgoing charmer, he was dead inside.

Silently, with total focus, Harkness swung through the aperture and into one of the prestigious hotel suites. Ignoring the champagne and caviar platter, he moved with purpose to the door, checking that there was no one outside, he slipped out of the room and into the corridor. He was a man on a mission – hired to acquire a microchip. He didn't give a damn what was on it, all he cared about was being paid and he couldn't care less who was paying as long as the funds appeared in his offshore account.

Turning the corner, he smiled as he saw the double doors on the left leading to his goal. Gently pushing the doors open revealed a long corridor with a door at the end, at the entrance, secured in a niche, was a bronze bust of a Roman emperor. Harkness stopped and looked down at the intricately woven carpet running the length of the corridor, he stooped down and lifted the edge to reveal anti-theft pressure sensors. He knew the richly coloured rug was designed as a distraction. From his back pack he pulled out a dart gun and aimed it down the corridor, a steel dart exploded out from the barrel, spooling out a strong cable, and then imbedded above the door at the corridor's end. Yanking the other end of the cable from the spool, Harkness looked around for something to secure it.

"Sorry about this," he muttered as he tied it around the bronze neck of the bust. Then he pulled out a lightweight contraption, with pulley device, attached it to the cable and used it to propel himself down the corridor without putting a foot to the floor.

Hovering at the other end of the cable, Harkness slipped a small black box from inside his jacket and pressed it up against the electronic lock on the door. Moments later a quiet beeping sound indicated that the door had been unlocked. Harkness turned the handle and, swinging forward, entered the room. A long table adorned with ornamental sculptures indicated the regular function of the room. At the head of the table, above the largest chair in the room, hung a portrait of Saksonski.

Removing the painting from the wall revealed the safe. Hauling his back pack off his shoulders Harkness grinned as he pulled out an industrial diamond-tipped drill. Although he realised it was going to make a noise, time was now of the essence. His transit down the corridor would have been detected by now, he'd only been able to knock the CCTV out temporarily, a short freeze would not have been noticed, but after a while, when the guard returned on his routine patrol, his absence from the feed would have alerted security.

Indeed it had, and Saksonski's son, Ilya, had already reached the interior corridor and was glaring at the cable strung over the floor. Using the guard's key ring, he shut off the anti-theft mats and ran down the carpet towards the open door.

Meanwhile, Harkness had drilled through the lock of the safe and had thrown the drill to one side as he tugged open the door to the safe. Amongst bundles of $100 bills and jewellery boxes sat a small metal box. Harkness grabbed it and flipped open the lid to reveal the microchip nestled inside. Satisfied that he had found the prize he pocketed the box. It was a prototype – worth a fortune.

"Don't move."

Harkness froze on the spot, this had not been in his plan.

"Turn around. Slowly."

Harkness turned to face Ilya, who was holding a silenced handgun.

"On your knees. Give me the box. Slowly."

Slowly sinking to his knees, Harkness pulled the box out of his pocket and tossed it to Ilya. He waited patiently, knowing the man would not be able to resist checking that the box still contained the chip. As soon as Ilya looked away from him, Harkness grabbed the drill from where it had landed on the ground, next to where he had chosen to kneel, and flung it will all his force into Ilya's face. Startled, he let go of the box which Harkness snatched as it flew through the air. Flooring Ilya with a right cross, Harkness grabbed his back pack and sprinted across the room to the nearest window. Using a knuckle duster to smash his way through the toughened glass, he stood atop the balustrade and turned to watch as Ilya ran towards him, aiming his gun.

With a grin, Jack Harkness jumped off the side of the building. As a stunned Ilya Saksonski looked on, a parachute unfurled from the back pack, enough to help Harkness make his way to safety on the top of the nearest tall building.

Ilya cursed loudly as the security detail finally joined him in his father's boardroom, watching as the only existing version of a microchip worth millions was stolen from under his nose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Walking towards Customs at Heathrow Airport, Harkness blew a kiss at the cute flight attendant he'd flirted with on the return flight.

"Take care, sweetheart – remember what I said. You've got my number."

Turning back he found himself boxed in by three police officers, two in uniform and a woman in plain clothes with whom he was well acquainted.

"How's the weather in St. Petersburg, Jack?"

"Cold. Just like you, Kathy."

"Let's warm things up for you. Cuff him."

Inspector Kathy Swanson watched on as her men cuffed Harkness and walked him towards an interview room inside the Customs area.

As Swanson searched his bags, Harkness stood facing the wall as a fair-haired constable frisked him.

"I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am, Andy," Harkness drawled, wriggling his arse provocatively. "It's been a while since you got to feel me up."

"It's PC Davidson to you and touching you gives me no pleasure at all. He's clean, ma'am."

"What's this then?" Swanson asked holding out the Webley pistol she'd discovered in the final bag she had searched.

"It's for protection. I deal in antique-"

"I know exactly what you deal in," snapped Swanson. "Sit down and shut it."

Andy Davidson held out the creased piece of paper he'd found crammed in the jacket pocket of his least favourite con man.

"He's licensed to carry, ma'am."

"Let's see the passport."

Andy handed over the rest of the documents to Kathy Swanson. Amongst them were half a dozen passports.

"What's your nationality this week, Harkness?"

"Scottish?" Harkness offered in a broad Glaswegian brogue. "You know damn well that I have legal-"

"Shut it. You go on a day trip to Russia, just twenty four hours, and surprise, surprise, a prototype computer chip worth quarter of a billion quid is nicked the night you arrive. We know you didn't fence it in Russia. Where is it?"

The other policeman then entered the interrogation room, laying out several x-rays onto the table – two of the bags that Harkness had been carrying and two of his body.

"All negative. He didn't swallow it."

"The way I see it, you've got three options," said Harkness, leaning across the table towards the officer interrogating him. "Charge me, or release me."

"And the third?"

"You can kiss my ass."

Kathy reacted automatically and backhanded Harkness across the face. She wasn't surprised to see him smile in reaction.

"I'm a busy man. Make up your mind."

"Release him without charge. But I'll be watching you, Harkness."

xxxxxxxxx

Later that evening, in a hotel restaurant in Bloomsbury, an off duty flight attendant was enjoying her third cocktail.

Sitting opposite her was Jack Harkness, nursing a single malt whisky.

"How's the locket, sweetheart?"

"S'lovely – antique you said? How old?"

"Oh, that would have belonged to the aristocracy before the revolution. It looks gorgeous on you, as if it was made for you. Perhaps you have royal blood."

"You think so?"

"Oh yeah. Hey, waiter – another round here please."

"You trying to get me drunk?" With a giggle the woman slid forward off her bar stool. "Oops – I think I need to go powder my nose."

"You do that, sweetheart. Why don't you leave that locket with me, I've got a special polishing cloth for vintage jewellery. I'll get it nice and shiny for you."

"Oh, you are such a love. I'll be right back".

By the time she returned, both Harkness and the locket had gone.

xxxxxxxxx

Back in his London apartment, Jack Harkness logged in to his Swiss bank account. He smiled as he saw the balance - $47,895,126.

Picking up his whisky and taking a drink, he stared at the screen as the '4' changed to a '5'. Having just made ten million dollars, he allowed himself a small smile and emptied his glass.

The phone rang. Harkness scowled – hardly anyone knew his direct number.

"Yes," he said, tersely.

"Am I speaking to Jack Harkness?" asked a voice with an Eastern European accent.

"It depends. What do you want?"

"A meeting. Midnight. Blackfriars Bridge."

"Involving what?"

"A lot of money. If you want it."

xxxxxxx

The fog had settled around the end of Blackfriars Bridge, making the streetlights appear a sickly yellow.

Harkness emerged from Victoria Embankment to meet two figures coming out of the fog. Saksonski and his son Ilya.

"Let me cut to the chase, Mr Harkness-"

"Captain."

"Really? I did not know you had served in the military."

"I was undercover."

"Of course," the Russian snorted. "Anyway, last night something was stolen from me in St. Petersburg. My city."

"You talk about the place as if you own it."

"I do, Mr - sorry, Captain - Harkness. Or should I say Templar? May I ask who hired you?"

"You can ask. I won't answer."

"What you stole, I want it back very badly."

"You'll have to find someone to get it back for you then – is that what this is about? Really?" Harkness laughed out loud.

"What is the saying - if you can't beat them, why not join them? An American phrase, no? Or are you British? Australian? No one seems to know for sure."

"I'm nothing. Except bored. Get to the point."

"Of course. I am not going to pay you to retrieve what you stole from me. However, there is something you can acquire for me."

"What?"

"A British electrochemist has worked ten years to develop a certain technology. I am informed that the technology will be made public at the annual nuclear science symposium in Washington D.C. I would like the plans and specifications for this technology. Before the symposium."

"Just what are we talking about?"

"A nuclear fusion generator. We have someone on the inside."

"Why can't they steal it?"

"They've tried. The scientist trusts no one and keeps no hard records of the technology in the lab, or in his home for that matter – he probably carries them with him at all times."

"Nuclear fusion," Harkness whistled softly, he was impressed and it took a lot to impress him. "They say it's mankind's only hope after all the oil's gone. This guy's actually done it?"

"His name is Ianto Jones. Here is his dossier. All the information you will need."

"My fee is fifteen million U.S. dollars, half up front, half when I deliver. You'll hear from me."

Harkness turned to walk off.

"One question. I ask you to steal a person's entire life's work. You have no reaction. Are you that cold?"

Harkness stared back, expressionless and shrugged. He turned and disappeared into the fog.

"It seems that the rumours are true, father."

"He may not show any weakness, but I only need to find one and I will destroy him."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The dossier on Ianto Jones provided Harkness with everything he needed to know. Studious, introverted, self-deprecating by all accounts, with a history of unrequited bicuriosity – Harkness was confident that a charm offensive followed up by a skilful seduction would open doors that Saksonski's spy had failed to even locate. The fact that the photograph indicated that the Welsh guy was cute in a nerdy fashion didn't hurt.

The first objective was to 'bump into' his target. Easy – the guy had routines, every Sunday morning he took a walk along the river by Magdalen College and then had a pub lunch before returning to his office to continue working. It seemed like it was the only time he took off work all week. Harkness assumed he'd be boring as hell, but he wasn't getting paid to like the guy, all he had to do was get access to his notes. If they were on his person, he'd find them.

His strategy was working like a charm – stumbling and feigning a twisted ankle just as Jones wandered past him in the opposite direction. He made sure his notebook fell from his grasp, spilling out sketches of the statue of Shelley along with notes on both C S Lewis and Tolkien. According to the dossier, Jones had been secretary of the Literary Society when he was an undergraduate student, despite studying for a degree in Chemistry, and conducted tours for visitors during the summer vacation.

"Shit – I am so clumsy, no wonder that bastard left me."

"Hey there, no worries. Any damage?"

Harkness faltered, the dossier had not said anything about a damn sexy accent. He coughed as he collected his thoughts.

"To my dignity, yes – and my ankle it seems. How ironic, a twisted ankle."

Harkness limped dramatically as he stumbled towards the wall, clutching whatever support he could grab hold of.

"Can I help-"

"No, no – please don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine."

Harkness began to turn awkwardly as if to head back towards the centre of town.

"Hang on – your folder! You don't want to lose this."

The folder had a name hand written on the cover – Robert Sandford. The contents had spilt out across the footpath.

"Oh yeah, thanks."

"So, Robert, are you a student?" Jones asked as he gathered the reams of handwritten notes, annotated with sketches and drawings of college buildings.

"I'm a bit too old for that, don't you think?" Harkness winked.

"It's never too late to be a student," admonished Jones. "I'm sorry, couldn't help but notice the subject matter, authors and poets who have all either studied or stayed in Oxford in the last three centuries."

"Let me guess, you're an English Professor."

"Do I sound English?" Jones said in mock horror. "I can tell that you're an American, but hopefully you can tell the difference."

"I meant English Literature. And the more I hear those Welsh vowels, the more I can tell you're more Celtic than Anglo-Saxon."

"Thank you. Anyway, I am an academic, but a scientist, believe it or not, just one that happens to read books."

"Pleased to meet you… mister… or is that professor?"

"Jones, Ianto Jones will do fine," the man replied bashfully.

Ianto held out a hand for Harkness to shake and then gasped as the other man began to crumple to the ground as soon as he let go of the wall in order to reciprocate the gesture. Ianto swooped in and grabbed hold of Harkness at the last minute keeping him from falling into a puddle, even though they both ended up sitting against the wall.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry! I wasn't thinking."

Harkness took a deep breath, feeling oddly comfortable in the arms of the Welshman – the dossier had also failed to state that he was stronger than he looked.

"My hero, you caught me! If only my ex had let me down so gently."

"Bad break up?"

"You could say. I thought he was the one – y'know? I guess you do from that look on your face."

The dossier had provided full details of 'Lisa Hallett' and her failed mission. Reading between the lines, her supervisors had not been happy with her efforts, which had left the shy Welshman even more reclusive than before.

"Yes, I do. Lisa – three months and four days ago. You?"

"John Hart – five weeks ago," Harkness winced, it didn't hurt keeping his story close to the truth to make it more convincing. It was really two years, but it felt like it was only yesterday.

"Ouch – still raw then?"

"You could say that. Hey, look at me, sitting on the ground spilling my guts to a complete stranger – you must think I'm a prime idiot."

"Not at all, Robert. But you should get home and rest that ankle – ice will help."

"I'll see what the landlady at the B&B can do, but I can't get back into the building until after five this afternoon."

"Ah, so you don't live here, you are just visiting."

Harkness was pleased to hear the hint of disappointment in Jones' voice.

"This time, yeah. But I am thinking of renting an apartment or cottage nearby. I'm writing a book and want to spend time researching the area."

"Your file?" Jones pointed to the dented folder sitting on the ground next to Harkness.

"Yeah. Those are just preliminary – I need a lot more information before I can make a start."

"Look, why don't you let me help you get to the local pub. You can put your foot up and I'm sure we can get a bag of ice from the bar."

"That's way too much trouble, I couldn't possibly ask you-"

"Not at all – I was going there for lunch anyway. Perhaps we could-"

"I'll treat you – least I can do."

xxxxxxxx

So far so good, thought Harkness as he sipped his beer. Jones was a lot more interesting than he'd been led to believe. He was really looking forward to the next phase of his operation. Lunch had really been quite pleasant, homemade chicken and vegetable soup and chunks of crusty bread.

"Ianto? I don't suppose you've got any painkillers on you have you?"

"Not here, but I have a fully stocked medicine cabinet in my apartment."

"Ah well, I'll get a chaser to go with the beer and hope the alcohol takes the edge off it-"

"Whisky?"

"Yeah, get yourself one as well. I'm not much of a drinker, truth be told. But I'm willing to give it a go."

Harkness made sure that whenever Ianto wasn't looking, he transferred his own whisky, bit by bit, into the other man's glass.


	4. Chapter 4

Leaving Jones to settle their bill at the bar, having pressed two twenty pound notes into his hand, Harkness slipped out of his seat and made his way to the gents' toilets. He made a point of checking that there was no one around as he crouched down and head butted the wash basin. Experience had taught him exactly where the skin would break most easily over his brow and he tilted his head, allowing the blood to trickle down his face. Only when he was satisfied that it looked suitably horrific, did he scream out in pain.

As predicted, Ianto Jones was one of the first people on the scene.

"Bloody hell – literally. I'll call an ambulance." Ianto had his mobile phone out and was about to dial, when Jack grabbed hold of his wrist urgently.

"No! I hate hospitals," slurred Harkness, even though the couple of drinks he'd actually imbibed had hardly affected him. "If we clean it up… maybe get a bandage, I won't scare the landlady too much. What'ya think?"

"There's blood all over your collar," protested Jones.

"Really?" Harkness tugged his shirt out to see the blood, pulling off a button in the process.

"That does it," sighed Jones. "You're coming back to my place. I can lend you a shirt and get you cleaned up. You cannot wander around Oxford stinking of booze, limping and splattered with blood – you look like someone mugged you. Hardly a good image for prospective tourists."

"I can't-"

"Yes, you can, I'll call a cab as well – there's no way you're walking."

xxxxxx

Ianto Jones' flat was neat – very neat. It was also very secure – there were two locks on the door, a chain and deadbolts.

"Sorry about all this," muttered Jones as he fumbled with the keys unlocking the door. Once inside he reset the alarm. "I got broken into the other week."

"Did they take anything valuable?"

"My lap top, a camera and the TV," shrugged Jones. "Nothing I can't replace on the insurance. Come on, sit yourself down and I'll see what I can do about that cut on your head."

Jones took his arm and led Harkness to a small, but comfortable sofa. Although by no means intoxicated, the alcohol has certainly loosened him up as he seemed very at ease in the other man's company.

"What about your work?" asked Harkness as if genuinely concerned. "Anything important on the laptop – work wise? Top secret scientific data?"

"Oh no, I keep all my secrets very close to my chest." Ianto smiled demurely as he hung up his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his woollen sweater.

"Really? Nothing in writing then?"

"Yes and no," replied Jones cryptically from the kitchen area where he was filling a bowl with hot water.

"That's OK, don't tell me. I didn't mean to pry," Harkness said dolefully as if deeply offended. He sunk back in the sofa, rubbing his head and looking sorry for himself.

Jones pulled the coffee table over and set the bowl of water on it, he then sat on it and, cupping the other man's chin, began to dab at the dried blood from his forehead. He felt sorry for his unexpected guest and couldn't help feeling attracted to him, after all he was exceptionally handsome, with bright blue eyes that twinkled mischievously and a gorgeous smile.

It had been a treat having lunch with someone who shared his interests in various literary figures rather than feeling as if all anyone wanted from him were the latest results of his investigations.

In the past few months, as he'd got closer to proving his hypothesis regarding cold fusion, he'd been approached by more and more people pretending they were interested in him, whilst all they wanted to do was access his ideas. He'd had plenty of offers from reps from the oil industry that he'd had to fend off – if his technology could not be used to the benefit of all, rather than for the profit of a few, he'd refuse to publish. He'd rather fake defeat than have his work used as a political bargaining chip.

"You OK there?" Harkness frowned, noting that Jones' attention had drifted and that he wasn't focusing solely on him anymore. He reached out and put a hand on Jones' knee, pleased that his contact was not rejected. "I'm sorry if I said something to upset you."

"No, not at all. It's just that … well… formulae aren't exactly writing."

"Definitely not – I never could understand head nor tail of algebra at school and as for chemistry, I flunked that when I nearly blew up the science lab!"

"I can believe that. Here hold still while I put some antiseptic on that cut. It's not as bad as it looked with all that blood everywhere."

Whilst Jones gently smeared some Savlon cream on the area surrounding the cut, he couldn't help but smell the other man's aftershave. It was different from anything he'd smelt before.

"Nice aftershave," he muttered without realising he'd spoken out loud.

"Glad you approve." Harkness squeezed Jones' knee as he whispered his response.

His flirtation had the desired effect, he noted as Jones began to blush adorably. Staring into the blue grey eyes, he smiled and decided it was time to press on.

"So, do you keep all those formulae locked up in that pretty head of yours?"

"Most," Jones rolled his eyes, "but I do keep some of them written down where only I can find them. I got the idea from Memento."

"The movie? So, what, you've scratched out the formulae onto your arms and legs? Or maybe just written in pen?" exclaimed Harkness. If that was the case, he had every intention of getting a good look at those limbs before the night was over.

"No! That's going too far. They'd wash off when I showered anyway."

Jones smiled again, relaxed enough to show off at his own cleverness. However, the way his long fingers reached up to absently fondle the beads of the necklace he wore did not go unnoticed by Harkness.

"I bet you keep them on your body somewhere."

"Maybe," Jones winked as if his secret was safe and then dropped the blood stained tissues into the waste paper bin.

"And I bet that whatever you keep your secrets in is all you wear in bed." Harkness bestowed Jones with one of his most lascivious of grins. He barely had to act at all – the guy was far more attractive in person than his mugshot had suggested.

"Why on earth would you be interested in what I wear in bed?" Jones looked away as he felt himself blushing, again. It had been a while since anyone had flirted this much with him, male or female.

"To be honest, it's been on mind since you took my hand by the river earlier today," Harkness said softly, realising to his extreme discomfort that he was not having to lie. "Does that bother you?"

"Not as much as I think it should," Jones responded bashfully. "In fact, I must confess to wondering what lies under all those layers of shirts you're wearing. In fact, I did say that I'd lend you a fresh shirt to wear, so you'll have to take that one off anyway."

"How about we do something to satisfy our … curiosity?" Harkness slipped an arm around Jones' waist and pulled him slightly closer.

Ianto looked up sharply, catching the raised eyebrow and enquiring look. He thought maybe he'd misinterpreted the other man's intentions, but one look into his guest's eyes told him that he'd read the signals with complete accuracy.

Harkness leaned further forward until his lips brushed those of the young Welshman – they were soft, yet firm. As soon as felt the other man respond, he knew his mission was a success.

xxxxxxx

It was well after midnight and Jones was lying on his side, clutching the pillow, dead to the world after an evening of passion that Harkness had enjoyed more than he'd anticipated. With a sigh, the conman finally made his move. He carefully unclipped the beaded necklace from around Jones' neck and laid it down on the nightstand on his side of the bed. As he'd suspected, it was the only item the other man had kept on in bed.

Careful observation revealed that some of the beads weren't what the appeared to be. They were tightly coiled strips of paper. Harkness unwound them, one by one and set them out to photograph using his phone.

After photographing each string of symbols and equations, he left the thin coils of paper on the top of the nightstand, next to the dismantled necklace. On his way out of the room he picked up the Ventolin inhaler that Ianto had been forced to use when he'd literally taken his breath away and placed it on the same nightstand. All evidence of his betrayal of the sweet kid whose virginity and trust he had stolen.

For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, Harkness almost leant down and kissed his victim.

But he didn't. It was just another job.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** \- this is a re-posting because I posted in haste and the version wasn't the one I wanted to post. Sorry!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 **The Real Chapter 5**

Industrial espionage. That's what it must have been and Ianto knew that he'd been a complete idiot. If it hadn't been bad enough that he'd more or less let that man know exactly where he kept the formulae, he'd slept with him. He'd even let him… oh god, he'd even let himself be persuaded that they didn't need to use any protection. What the hell had he been thinking?

As a scientist, he'd been able to give the police artist a precise description and the likeness produced was perfect, right down to the dimple in the chin and the glint in the eyes. If nothing else, the time spent cleaning and dressing the injury obtained in the toilets at the pub had allowed Ianto to memorise every detail of that face.

It was this sketch, coupled with the name Robert Sandford, that triggered Scotland Yard's interest and Ianto found himself being interviewed in his own flat by a Detective Inspector Kathy Swanson and a detective sergeant, whose main purpose seemed to be making him feel pitied. Swanson was all business and protocol, with the jaded air of someone who was waiting for retirement, whereas the woman who introduced herself as Gwen was Welsh, with a broad Swansea accent and a gap between her front teeth, exuded sympathy and a desire to put him at ease.

Sitting on the sofa, Swanson held out her iPad for Ianto to see a copy of the image drawn by the police artist.

"This is Robert Sandford then? You sure that's who he said was?" Swanson swept her finger tips apart to zoom in on the grin.

"That's what he said and it was on the document folder he was carrying," Ianto reiterated, having been through this several times with the officers at Oxford Police Station.

"Robert de Sandford was one of the Knights Templar," Swanson stated and then with a deft tap on the screen, she pulled up a page from Wikipedia, listing the names of about twenty knights who'd served in the early middle ages.

"The man who conned you picks his aliases from this list," chipped in Gwen as she returned from his kitchen with a mug of tea. She set it on the coffee table beside him and patted his arm.

Ianto took a tentative sip and noted that the tea was overly sweet, as if the detective sergeant had automatically decided to treat him for shock.

"I don't believe it. You've got to be kidding. Not only a lying, conniving … but he actually studies this stuff?"

"Pretentious if you ask me," sneered Swanson. "He knows that we know, but he still does it. Always trying to be such a clever bastard."

"What's his real name?"

"As far as we know, the name he's had the longest is Jack Harkness," answered Gwen. "Although the records suggest that he died in a Catholic orphanage at the age of fifteen. Fell from a window ledge."

"OK then, so not Robert but Jack. Who does he work for?" Ianto asked. "Which company? Maybe-"

"He works for whoever offers to pay him the most." Swanson stated bluntly. "The wretched man's a complete mercenary with a moral compass that would make an alley cat look like a saint."

"But I…" Ianto rubbed his face, trying to figure out what he'd got into.

"Sorry sunshine, he just played on the fact that you're attracted to men."

"But I'm not!" protested Ianto. "Not men. It was just … him."

"Oh, he really played you didn't he?" Swanson laughed out loud. "Right, let's just go through this statement once more. Trouble is there's not really been any crime committed. Although I'm sorry to say that your secrets have probably already been sold to the highest bidder. Next time you might want to check out the credentials of who you invite into your bed."

"It wasn't like that!" Ianto retorted uselessly.

DS Cooper smiled at him and shook her head as if she understood only too well.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, love." Gwen sighed wistfully. "There was this one time we had him in custody, and I had to transfer him from a holding cell to the interview room. In the space of a three minutes he'd almost convinced me that I wanted nothing more than to run off with him, deserting my job and Rhys, my fiancé. "

"Really? What happened?"

"Between the cell block and the front desk he flirted with every single person we met, man and woman alike. Opened my eyes to the type of man he is – forget him sweetheart, Kathy's right, he's a complete and utter bastard."

"It …I… shit, what have I done?" Ianto buried his head in his hands in despair.

xxxxxxx

By the time he'd got his flat back to himself, Ianto was determined that if the police weren't going to help him, he'd have to find Harkness by himself.

Knowing that the man he'd known as Robert Sandford used the names of the Knights Templar as aliases gave him the break he needed.

Ianto Jones was a scientist, he was good at solving puzzles and he had plenty of clues. 'Robert Sandford' would have adopted one of a couple of dozen names and played for high stakes. A search into the nationalities of the scientists registering the keenest interest in seeking data from his research indicated that they were either Russian or working for Russian institutes. The probability of the conman's paymasters being Russian was high enough to pursue.

It also occurred to him that the man would stay somewhere ostentatious and close to the centre of Moscow to sell the data he'd obtained. He figured that he would hand it over in person to make sure he got paid. A search on Trip Advisor for the most popular hotels in Moscow gave him a list of thirty to work through. It only took nine calls to find him – staying under the name of Geoffrey Fitzstephen at the Moscow Marriott Grand Hotel.

xxxxxxx

At a small, round wooden table in the coffee shop on the second floor of the GUM department store on the edge of Red Square, Jack Harkness sat and sipped an extraordinary coffee flavoured with chocolate and pepper. He knew where to find decent coffee in the city, despite the penchant of Russians to drink instant.

It was a bright, well-lit space with shoppers coming and going, tourists and wealthy families partaking of hot beverages and cakes. A relatively safe place to meet with someone as dangerous as one of Saksonski's henchmen. He didn't expect to see the man himself, so wasn't surprised when he saw his son, Ilya, approach him.

"Harkness."

"Hi there, Ilya. No hard feelings I hope?" Harkness grinned toothily, unperturbed by the Russian's lack of reciprocation.

"If you are referring to your theft from my father's office, that's out of my hands. But your skills as a thief impressed him sufficiently that he hired you for this job."

"What does he want with the formulae for cold fusion? Not seeing him as the benevolent type."

"There is an oil shortage in the city if you hadn't noticed, anyone that can offer a solution to the energy crisis would make a popular leader."

"Hence the protests."

"The public believe it is the fault of sanctions and they blame the west, you know how it goes."

"Yeah, but I don't really give a damn. I'd just like the rest of what's owing to me and I can give you what you came for."

"I could take it if I wanted."

"Not really, it's password protected," shrugged Harkness, patting the lid of his notebook.

"So, enough of this small talk – do you have the formulae with you or not?"

"Not until you take your coat off and drape it over there," Harkness pointed at the chair opposite him. "I hate surprises and I'm guessing you pack all sorts of wonders in your clothing."

Ilya Saksonski grimaced as he slipped his arms out of his sleeves of his bulky overcoat and carefully placed it out of reach as requested.

"Hands on the table please, where I can see them."

"You're not very trusting are you?"

"I've good reason not to be."

Harkness popped open the lid of his notebook and brandished a flash drive that he slotted into the USB port. He quickly typed in the password and then spun the notebook around so that Ilya could see that the zip file he opened was stored on the flash drive. On opening one of the two folders on the drive he revealed a series of images, revealing the neat script of Ianto Jones.

"How do I know this is for real?" Ilya asked.

"See the way the way the sigma is drawn here – with the ends pointing inwards slightly? And the integral sign – the way the line curls under?"

"Yes?"

"Use your phone and do a search for Ianto Jones, Royal Society Christmas lecture. December 2010. Check out the images. Go on – if I show you the pictures myself you won't believe me."

Ilya reluctantly followed Jack's instructions and, after searching through a few screenshots of the televised lectures, he saw the chalkboard and Ianto Jones writing an equation on it. The script matched that on the scraps of paper exactly.

"It would seem that you may be telling the truth."

"Yeah – and here is proof of their origin," Harkness had opened up the other folder. "Provenance I guess."

Harkness felt a slight pang of conscience as he showed Ilya the photos he'd taken of Ianto, fast asleep and wearing nothing but the necklace, which was then shown in various stages of disassembly.

"The rumours are right then, there is nothing and nobody you would not do to complete your assignments."

"Not much of a hardship if you must know," Harkness smiled as he recalled the evening he'd spent in Oxford.

"Our inside agent said nothing about him being gay," Ilya said with disdain. "No wonder she failed."

"He's not gay-"

"I am even more impressed at your depravity then."

"It wasn't… look that's got nothing to do with the deal. I've got you the formulae. Transfer the fee to my account and the flash drive is yours with the password."

Harkness closed the pictures of Ianto quickly, a nasty feeling in his gut at the unsaid accusations made by Saksonski's son.

"You'll get half of what we owe you now and the rest when our scientists have validated the data."

"Whoa – that wasn't the deal!"

"It won't take long – if you've done the job properly. I'm sure you'll find plenty to amuse yourself in our wonderful city."

Harkness had intended to leave as soon as humanly possible. But he had no choice.

"Fine."

He waited for Ilya to sanction the transfer of funds into his Swiss bank account and then handed over the flash drive.

He decided to give it twenty four hours and then he'd count his losses and get out of Moscow. He didn't trust Saksonski.

As Ilya walked away from the coffee shop he tapped his Bluetooth to make a connection to his father.

"We have it. And I think I've found his weakness."


	6. Chapter 6

In a laboratory on the other side of Moscow, a haggard looking man in a white coat wrung his hands again, trying to wait out Saksonski's torrent of abuse aimed at Harkness, Jones and the imperialist west in general.

"It's not useless, sir – it's just not in any particular order. The fragments need to be arranged in the correct sequence. This formula makes certain assumptions which contradict all we know about cold fusion cathodes, so testing at any level becomes futile without further information."

"Don't despair, Dr Botvin. Help is here. You need the man who wrote it?" Saksonski interrupted.

"He'll never agree-"

"I do not intend to give him a choice," Saksonski spoke slowly as if the man was an idiot and not an eminent nuclear scientist.

"But he's in England-"

"Oh no he's not," the oligarch grinned. "No – he's here in Russia. In Moscow in fact. He flew in this morning carrying hand luggage only."

"But why-?"

"One reason only – he's worked out that Harkness is in the city. How lucky is that for you?"

The scientist let out the breath he'd been holding, aware that the only reason he was still breathing at all was because of the Welshman's presence in Moscow.

"Ilya?"

Ilya Saksonski stepped forward from the doorway of the laboratory where he'd been standing sheepishly.

"Father?" he responded, eager to do whatever it took to get him back in favour.

"I want you to bring Jones to me. Have the police find fault with his visa and take him in for questioning."

"What about Harkness?"

"Kill him. Any way you like, but make it painful."

"It will be my pleasure."

xxxxxx

Ianto looked up at the façade of the hotel and worked out the probability of Harkness taking a corner suite. His research suggested that the larger rooms were at the ends of the corridors and he was prepared to bet that the conman would go for a room with the most amenities and the best position for watching the comings and goings on the streets below. He was wearing a thick coat and a woollen hat, and hadn't shaved for the past two days – he hoped that his appearance was different enough that Harkness wouldn't spot him coming.

After checking in, he took the lift to his floor, he'd booked one of the cheaper rooms, with no view to speak of and a single bed pushed up against the wall. Once inside, he checked the emergency evacuation instructions on the back of the door and noted the room number of the corner suite on his floor. It was then a matter of making internal calls to each room ending with the same two digits until his call was answered by an American accent. The voice was unmistakable. Ianto apologised in Russian for calling the wrong number and hung up quickly.

Without allowing one more moment to pass, Ianto ran from his room and headed for the stairs. As he took them two at a time, a tightness in his chest reminded him to check for his inhaler. Fumbling in his jacket pocket he found it there and sunk down on the thickly carpeted landing. It took a few moments for the bronchodilator to allow him to breathe in and out with more comfort. The wheezing had almost stopped, but he didn't want to risk missing the object of his hunt.

A glance at the floor number showed him he only had only one more floor to go, so he took his time and walked slowly until he reached the door to the suite. He stood to one side, facing away from the door and knocked on it loudly.

"Room service," he announced in a passable Russian accent.

Ianto barged in as soon as the door opened, finding the strength from somewhere to push Harkness out of his way.

"I-I'm overwhelmed. You found me."

"You stole something from me and I want it back!"

"Hey, not the first time I heard that," snapped Harkness. "I can't give it back – whether it's your precious formulae or your virginity! Both are now gone, gorgeous."

With no warning, Jones drew back his arm and let fly with a vicious right hook to the jaw, almost knocking Harkness off his feet.

"You bastard!"

"Look it wasn't anything personal, kid."

Harkness rubbed his jaw, he'd not expected the mild looking scientist to pack quite such a powerful punch.

"It was to me. I trusted you. How could you do it?"

"I… I had to. I'm a thief. It's what I do," Harkness wiped his hands over his face, wondering why he was feeling the stirrings of remorse. "So tell me, you flew all this way just for your formulae?"

"Yes, I did." Ianto stood against the door, not wanting his prey to escape.

Jack walked towards him slowly, but with purpose and then pinned Ianto to the door, planting his hands either side of the younger man's face.

"Bullshit. I left them on your nightstand. You know what I think? The real reason you flew out here to find me? I think it's because you're a little bit in love."

Leaning in for a kiss, Harkness was surprised when he felt himself being shoved forcefully away.

"I rest my case," Jack smirked.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"No one has a clue, least of all me," Harkness smirked, but the cocky grin didn't hide the fact that he'd just spoken the truest sentence he'd shared with anyone for quite a while.

"You're not kidding. You lied to me. You fooled –"

"Yeah, I get it, I pissed you off. So, what are you going to do now you've found me?"

"Have you arrested and extradited – you're a wanted man, Robert. Or should I say Jack?"

"Jack – call me Jack. Please." The reminder of his original betrayal stung as he pleaded with Ianto to call him by that name. "Anyway, what do you mean – arrested? Swanson's got no jurisdiction here-"

"Who said anything about the British police?" Ianto responded, glancing at his watch. "Payback time, it's my turn to watch you suffer."

Jack blanched at the implications of what Ianto had implied.

"You idiot – we've gotta get outta here!" Jack grabbed hold of Ianto's arms and shook him urgently.

"I'm not going anywhere with you – I've done nothing wrong!"

"You think that'll make any difference to those guys?" Jack's voice rose, bordering on hysteria.

"I'm innocent," Ianto stated adamantly.

"Doesn't matter – they're gonna be after you, too." Jack started to scramble around the room, shoving his phone and wallet into his trouser pockets and pulling on a dark navy blue great coat.

"Why me?" Ianto shook his head, not understanding what was going on.

"The guy I stole the formulae for? Saksonski – he owns this city, police and all. He'll know you're in the city by now and they'll be onto us even if you haven't already alerted them!"

"But-" Ianto was taken aback by Jack's behaviour. He was genuinely surprised to see the con man so flustered and afraid.

"Come on –" Jack grabbed hold of Ianto's hand and jerked him towards the door.

It was too late.

The door came crashing in and several armed police stormed the room, pushing both men to the floor.

xxxxxx

Looking out of the back of the police van, Jack was alarmed to notice that they were heading out of the city, in the opposite direction to the central police station. He saw the name of one of the streets and recognised it as being in the neighbourhood of Saksonski's mansion. It didn't surprise him that the police were corrupt, but he was worried that they'd taken Ianto as well. That suggested that Saksonski wanted to get hold of the Welsh scientist and that scared Jack.

He noticed that Ianto was gasping for breath, looking paler by the minute.

"Hey, there – you OK?"

Ianto just shook his head and muttered.

"My inhaler, think I dropped it."

"Yeah, you did, but I managed to grab hold of it and slide it up into my sleeve before they cuffed us."

"Great… no good to me there."

"Sit down on the floor. Just get down on the floor. That's right."

Ianto moved forward slipping off of the bench seat as he landed on his knees. It took a moment to stop swaying as the van there were in hurtled through the streets.

"Needs… shaking… first."

"Got it, come on, over here."

Jack noted that Ianto not only looked pale, but was sweating as well, which wasn't good. It was awkward, but, leaning against the other man's thigh, Ianto managed to close his lips around the mouthpiece of the inhaler and take in enough medication to provide relief. He let his head fall into Jack's lap as he sunk down on his knees to catch his breath.

Leaning down to whisper into the other man's ear Jack tried to ignore the fact that Ianto flinched away from him.

"Hey there, if you want to get out of this alive you're gonna have to trust me."

"Trust you? Why the hell should I do that? You've taken advantage of me, stolen from me and now got me arrested-"

"Later. You can bitch at me all you want when we get out of Moscow, but now's not the time. Now, while you're down there you can get the pocketknife out of my boot."

"What?"

"Just do it. I'm trying to save that cute ass of yours if you let me."

After some contortions that ended up with Ianto falling heavily against the rear doors, Jack had the pocketknife in his hands and was busy cutting through the plastic cable ties around his wrists.

"If we're heading where I think we're heading we'll probably get stuck in traffic at the next intersection – the van will slow down then and that's when we get out."

"How?" hissed Ianto as Jack held his wrists still in order to cut through the plastic cuffs restraining him. "Do Russian police cars make request stops? Shall I ring a bell?"

"My God, you've got a sarcastic streak haven't you?"

"You arrogant bastard – this is all your fault-"

"Now!" yelled Jack as he kicked out with both feet, breaking the lock on the back door of the van and grabbing hold of Ianto's hand as he flung himself from the van onto the pavement.

"Run! Don't look back! Just follow me!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

After weaving in and out of a number of narrow side streets, they ducked into the doorway of a small café to take cover as a police car drive past, its sirens blaring. Ianto made a show of reading the menu pasted on the window, whilst Jack stood in front of him, shielding him from view from passing traffic.

Keeping a watch out for any vehicle that might belong to either the police of Saksonski's goons, Jack pulled out his phone from where he'd tucked into a hidden pocket and selected one of the numbers he had saved on speed dial for trips to Moscow.

Ianto tried to follow the mumbled conversation without letting on that he could speak Russian. He was relieved that it seemed as if Jack was making arrangements to get them to the British Embassy. Although he wasn't entirely sure he could trust Jack, at least he'd not left him behind in the police van, which had to count for something.

"OK, keep your head down and follow me," whispered Jack as he slipped his phone back into his coat and raised his collar. He pulled out a woollen hat from an outside pocket and pushed it into Ianto's hand. "Put this on, pull it down over your ears, they're bright red, anyone can spot that you're not used to living anywhere this cold. You look like a tourist."

"Pardon me for not packing for going on the run," Ianto grumbled as he pulled the woollen beanie hat over his head. "I wasn't intending on staying for more than one night."

"Just do as I say, don't look at anyone's face and try to walk faster."

Jack had his shoulders hunched and was striding purposefully along the pavement, his great coat flapping about his legs as he forged his way through the throng of pedestrians on the street.

"Why are they after me?" whispered Ianto as he caught up with Jack, wondering, not for the first time, why he was also on the run.

"The guy that commissioned me to get the formulae from you, Saksonski, he has to be behind this," Jack scowled. "The only reason he could be after you is if those notes I took were incomplete."

"But everything was there. You took everything."

"So the formula works?" Jack pressed.

"Theoretically."

"We've gotta convince him there's nothing more he wants from you."

"How?"

"I have no idea – maybe you can put something together that would buy time. I can arrange to exchange it and –"

"Why can't I just go to the Embassy and –"

"Because Saksonski will find you before you get there."

As they walked along the streets, they found themselves pushed about as crowds became denser near the bus station at the side of the road.

"Where's everyone going in such a hurry?"

"To their country relatives to cut firewood. There's no heat in the city."

"Why not?"

"Because Saksonski's hoarded all the oil. Not sure why, but I think it all has something to do with the reason he's after the secret of cold fusion."

"Cold fusion could theoretically provide heat the whole city using no more than a few gallons of water."

"How long will it take you to produce some feasible additional formulae?"

"I don't know. An hour or two, maybe. I don't know."

"Should be enough time to get a passport sorted out for you..."

Suddenly, with a screech of tyres, a car pulled up alongside them. Ilya Saksonski flung open the passenger door, and was followed by two sinister looking men with guns.

"Shit – too late, we've gotta run!"

Grabbing hold of Ianto's hand, Jack dragged him across the road, darting in between oncoming traffic as they headed south towards the river.

They found themselves running along the Moskvoretskaya Embankment beside the River Moskva. The ground was icy underfoot and the air frosty. Steps led down to the edge of the river and Jack dragged Ianto down them, out of sight from the road. They stood still as Ianto caught his breath and Jack listened out for the sounds of running feet.

"What-?" Ianto's question was stopped by Jack's finger pressing against his lips.

Jack pointed upwards and held a hand to his ear, indicating that Ianto should listen. The sound of a car skidding to a halt, not far from where they stood, alarmed Ianto, especially when the door opened and he heard two men arguing.

Jack took hold of Ianto by the arm and began to move slowly, carefully stepping over debris that blocked the pathway alongside the river's edge. Neither of them were wearing the right footwear for scrambling across icy terrain and they both stumbled precariously close to the edge.

It was Ianto who slipped first, sliding dangerously towards the river. Jack grabbed hold of him by the shoulder and elbow, spinning him around and holding onto him tightly. In the scramble to get away from the icy waters, Ianto's inhaler slipped out of his pocket and into the river. Without thinking, Jack dropped to his knees and reached out to grab hold of it before it skittered into the icy water. The ice gave way under his feet and he plunged into the frigid waters. All he could do was clamp his mouth shut to keep in the scream that was trying to force its way from his throat.

The sound of the ice breaking brought their pursuers running to the side of the embankment. From under the surface of the water, Jack could see the outlines of the figures leaning out to see what had caused the noise. He was relieved to see that Ianto had had the sense to plaster his body flat against the concrete wall, hiding from view under a curtain of icicles. However, there was no way Jack could surface, not until Ilya and his men had left the scene.

Eventually, when he felt his lungs burning and his limbs becoming numb with cold, he dared to open his eyes quickly, just in time to see Ilya Saksonski shake his head, turn and walk away, out of sight.

Dragging himself out of the water, shuddering with cold, Jack was barely aware of Ianto's arms wrapping around him. His great coat dragged at him, heavy with water that was solidifying as the cold wind whipped around them as they clung to each other.

Looking down at his right hand, he smiled to himself as he saw that he was still holding the inhaler, tightly clenched in his fist.

"You're going to get hypothermia if we don't get you somewhere warm soon," hissed Ianto.

"You too, you're not wearing a coat. I know a place… not far... safe house," Jack forced the words out through chattering teeth.

"Where? Point which way we need to go." Ianto asked urgently, noting the lack of colour being replaced by a blue tinge about the other man's lips.

Jack appreciated Ianto realising that he wouldn't be able to speak easily and clumsily grabbed at his arm, shoving him the direction of the steps that led back up to street level. On the way, he motioned for Ianto to grab hold of an empty vodka bottle that had been abandoned amongst a pile of litter against the lower steps. Ianto frowned, but Jack took it from him with a knowing look.

They made their way hunched up and stumbling, Ianto propping Jack up as he pretended to swig from the bottle clutched in his hand. To any casual onlooker it would look as if two drunks were making their way from one temporary shelter to another.

Eventually, they came to a rundown street, with alley ways leading around to the backs of houses, once grand, and now split into apartments. It was easy to break in at the back of the building, entering the basement, where laundry facilities were located as well as bins of rubbish. An antiquated tumble dryer was left ajar, an old, worn blanket still hanging out of it. Ianto took this as Jack worked on the door of what appeared to be a store room.

Jack swore as his numb fingers made heavy work of picking the lock with his pocket knife, but the rewarding click as the lock succumbed was music to his ears.

"In here… now!"

Ianto followed and pulled the door shut behind him.

"We've got to get you out of those wet clothes, you're probably already got hypothermia, but …"

"Now you're talking..." muttered Jack as he fumbled with the buttons on his coat and then at those on Ianto's.

"Hang on there, I've got you …" Ianto pushed Jack's hands out of the way and deftly unbuttoned Jack's coat and shirt, then did the same to his own clothes.

Before long both men were naked and lying on the floor, the blanket that Ianto had acquired wrapped around them, as he lay on top of Jack, sharing what body heat he had with what felt like a human shaped block of ice.

"Bloody hell, you're freezing!" exclaimed Ianto as he shivered in response to the sudden loss of heat from his own body. He'd thought he was cold as they'd made their way through the back streets, but in contrast to Jack's body he was a furnace.

"Shhh! Stay where you are," demanded Jack as he felt the other man automatically draw back from him. "I kinda missed this … you… naked… on top …of me… feels good."

"You've almost frozen to death and you're still flirting? You're unbelievable. I'm only doing this to warm you up."

"Yeah? You sure about that? You coulda done that without losing your clothes."

"Skin on skin is meant to be best- but if you'd-"

Jack flinched as his muscles started to throb as they warmed up once more, the pain returning as the numbness left his limbs.

"You OK?" asked Ianto, trying not to sound as concerned as he was.

Jack pulled him closer until their lips met and then threw caution to the wind as he held Ianto's head still and kissed the man who was lying on top of him. He felt substantially warmer as Ianto responded, opening his mouth to participate fully, taking charge of the kiss that deepened rapidly.

The hands that roamed his chilled skin and the weight of the limbs that wrapped about him began to thaw Jack in more ways than one.

He'd just lost yet another of his nine lives as he'd fallen into the icy river, but he was startled to realise he'd sacrifice however many he had left to keep this man safe.


	8. Chapter 8

Ianto responded without being aware that he was, until his foot caught a metal bucket that clanked loudly against the wall. He pulled away from Jack and took a deep breath.

"Shouldn't we be looking for this safe house you were talking about?"

"It's an apartment… in this block…" mumbled Jack, forcing the words through his chattering teeth. "There are people there who will help us. Help you get out of the city."

"Never mind that for now – we need to get you somewhere warm."

"Was getting warm with you on top of me-"

"Honestly – you never give up, do you?"

Helping Jack to his feet, Ianto gave him his own jumper and thick, woollen coat to wear – just long enough to preserve the man's dignity. He quickly pulled on his flannel shirt and corduroy trousers – which would have been quite cosy back in Oxford, but barely enough to keep him from shivering. Ianto gave his socks to Jack – at least they were dry and would insulate his feet to some extent in his thick leather boots.

Jack looked mournfully at his sodden greatcoat, torn between keeping it with him or abandoning it. He knew it was distinctive and would give him away, even if it wasn't so wet it would take forever to get dried.

"Come on, you were the one who said we didn't have any time to lose!" muttered Ianto, tucking his inhaler well down in his back pocket.

"Yeah – you're right."

With a sigh, Jack emptied all the pockets of his beloved greatcoat and transferred the contents to the pockets of Ianto's coat.

"Goodbye, old friend," Jack bade his coat farewell, before tucking it into a corner of the storage cupboard, out of sight of anyone who would come looking for them.

As they meandered their way from the laundry room into the main hallway for the apartment block Ianto headed for the antiquated lift. It had obviously been quite grand in its day, a cage elevator with ornate wooden shutter doors – but these were now ripped apart.

"You'll have a long wait for that … was made of mahogany. Tenants used it for firewood last winter."

"Great – which floor do we need to get to?"

"The fifth. Sorry."

Pausing to take a puff from his inhaler, Ianto scowled at Jack, wondering what the hell he was letting himself in for.

"Maybe I can just call a cab-" Ianto sighed as he gazed up at the intimidating stairwell.

"You could," chuckled Jack humourlessly. "But if you want to live, you need to stay by my side."

By the time they reached the fifth floor, Jack's legs were trembling with pain and he was struggling to breathe. All he could do was point at the door of the apartment of his contacts and leave it to Ianto to do the talking.

Leaning against a wall strewn with graffiti, Jack knocked on the door, using the code he'd memorised.

As the door creaked open, just as far as the chain would allow, Ianto anxiously whispered in fluent Russian – a surprise to Jack, although it shouldn't have been. He was starting to realise that he'd been underestimating the scientist.

"We need your help. He fell in the river, and he's freezing," Ianto repeated, this time in English – just in case he'd been misunderstood.

"Need dry clothes," added Jack. But the door stayed shut, the occupants not trusting the situation, wary of a trap.

"Please? We're just people-"

"You're not people," came the indignant response. A child's voice. "You're Americans-"

"I'm not-" protested Ianto.

"English. No difference to us."

"I am Welsh. Not American. Not English-" Ianto rolled his eyes as he caught the look on Jack's face.

"So much for keeping a low profile," hissed Jack. "Why not announce to the whole damn city that there's a Welshman seeking sanctuary here."

The interaction between the two men had caught attention of the person behind the door, who slipped the chain free to pull them inside – before they attracted the attention of anyone else living on the fifth floor.

"Richard? I did not expect to see you back so soon," a woman's voice welcomed them as they were pushed into the tiny kitchen. "Always you bring trouble to my door."

The woman had been sitting at the table, but was now standing up, her hands on her hips with a look in her face that Ianto recognised. It was the look of someone who'd been conned by Jack, yet still harboured warm feelings towards him, despite a suspicion that they'd regret it.

"Sorry about this, Lucia," Jack said as he gave the woman a big hug, kissing her on both cheeks. "I promise we won't be here long."

"We ran into trouble with your Mafia," explained Ianto, unaccountably jealous of the way Jack's hands lingered on the woman's waist. He stored away the fact that she'd called him Richard. He'd look that one up later.

An older woman entered the room, complaining of something in Russian, spitting in the general direction of both Jack and Ianto. Lucia flung back her long blonde hair and laughed at some private joke.

"She disapproves of what I do, but eats the bread it buys her. She remembers you, Richard. Thinks you've brought me a new customer."

Ianto frowned as realisation struck him that the woman was a prostitute. He pressed himself to the cabinet on the wall as Lucia ushered the older woman out of the room.

"He's cold," muttered Ianto, hoping that Jack's old friend could help them.

"No heat for sale," replied Lucia, shaking her head as she pulled some stiff trousers off a clothes line that ran from one side of the cooking range to the other. "But these clothes will make him warm."

As Jack took hold of the trousers and started to pull them on, they heard the unmistakable screech of tyres outside, followed by shouting in Russian.

"Hurry up and get them on! You once could get in and out of clothes much faster than that," observed Lucia derisively.

"Hey – my fingers are frozen, can't get the zip-"

Ianto batted his hands out of the way to fasten the trousers, taking care not to catch anything in the teeth of the zip.

"Stop wasting time. Quick, in here!" Lucia shouted at them, opening the lower doors on the kitchen cabinet to reveal a secret hidey-hole built into the partition wall and into the next room. "Built to escape Secret Police. In you go."

"We need to get to the Embassy without being seen."

"Which embassy? American or Welsh?"

"British," snarled Jack, throwing a glare at Ianto as he dropped to his knees to scramble inside the hiding place, dragging the Welshman in with him.

"I'll send out one of the boys after these men have gone," replied Lucia, shutting the doors and fastening the catch. She then lowered the flap above the cupboard and set out cups and a teapot to make it look as if she'd been preparing tea for her family.

There was no room to be anything other than very close inside the hiding place. Ianto was glad that Jack was now wearing trousers, but he was still concerned that the other man was still trembling.

"You're going to get hypothermia," whispered Ianto.

"Not if you keep me warm," stated Jack, rolling onto his back and pulling Ianto on top of him.

"Jack – she called you Richard. Another knight?" asked Ianto, thinking that it was as good a time as ever to question the identity of the man he was lying on top of – again.

"Richard de Hastings, if you must know. Died in 1185."

"Just who are you?

There was no reply and Ianto wondered if Jack had finally succumbed to the cold and lost consciousness. That was until he felt the warm breath of a sigh against his bare throat.

"I don't have a name."

"Why do you call yourself Jack? That's not one of the knights Templar's name, is it?"

Ianto felt Jack's arms wrap tightly around his shoulders holding him as close as humanly possible.

"He was the first boy I kissed. He fell… to his death. Priests took him away. I escaped," Jack muttered bitterly. "I always escape."

"That's sad," Ianto said quietly, cradling Jack's head to his chest, comforting him for a reason just beyond his understanding. "Will you have a name when we get home?"

"I don't have a home either," stated Jack. Sure, he had an apartment in London and a house in the country, but not a home. It occurred to him that he'd never had a real home. Not since Doc Smith had left him the orphanage all those years ago.

Both men pondered the revelations, spoken and unspoken as they listened intently to the goings on outside Lucia's flat. They could make out an authoritarian voice yelling out for every apartment to be checked.

They could hear someone yelling out that they'd seen two foreigners on the stairs.

Then, clearly, they heard Ilya Saksonski's voice. He was shouting out that there was a reward for anyone who would show him where the foreigners were hiding.

A knock at Lucia's door was answered by the boy who'd opened the door to them beforehand.

Jack could feel Ianto's heart beating frantically in his chest. He hoped that he could still trust Lucia and her family. He turned his head to look through the slatted wooden door of the cabinet and could see shiny leather boots of the uniformed thugs that Saksonski had hired to search the apartment block. With any luck, they would only see a tiny kitchen, with no room to conceal two tall men.

Lucia offered the men tea, saying she had nothing else to offer them. It sounded as if she was almost flirting with the men in order to distract them. A ploy not unfamiliar to Jack, who hoped she could handle herself. If he had to defend her, he knew it would be at the cost of his life and Ianto's liberty.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

They'd got lucky. Before their hiding place had been uncovered, the men searching the apartment had been called away by Saksonski. Apparently, Jack's coat had been discovered in the laundry room, along with the rest of his discarded wet clothing and they were going to bring in bloodhounds to search for them by scent. Jack hoped that his dip in the river had diluted his scent on the clothing, but he couldn't count on it.

"We need to get out of here, before the dogs arrive," hissed Jack as soon as Lucia opened the cabinet to let them out.

"How can you do that with those men everywhere?"

"I'm gonna need a skirt, a large shawl and an old sack. How about it?"

"Here," Lucia said, thrusting a large, faded shawl at Jack.

Lucia then pointed at the washing line above the stove, indicating that Jack should help himself. She then left the room to find a sack – the sort used to collect anything that could be burnt in the stove to generate heat.

Selecting a few items from the laundry hung up to dry, Jack wrapped the shawl around his head and shoulders, making sure it fell forward over his eyes. He rolled up his trouser legs and pulled on an old skirt. He pulled up his socks, stuffed his boots into the sack that Lucia handed to him and grabbed an old pair of slippers from the hearth.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Ianto, watching as Jack transformed his appearance. From somewhere Jack had produced a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that he propped on his nose. When he stooped over clutching a cane, he looked half his actual height and at least twice his age, not to mention female.

"Getting us the hell out of here before the dogs arrive. Put that hat on and pull it all the way down," Jack tossed a woollen hat with holes in it at Ianto. "Where's your makeup, Lucia?"

With a scowl, Lucia handed Jack an old biscuit tin, filled with pots and jars of makeup. He took a pot of rouge and liberally dusted Ianto's cheeks and the tip of his nose. Then he took an eyebrow pencil and added some extra 'hairs' to his eyebrows, giving them the appearance of being much bushier than they were.

"The fire escape?" asked Jack.

Lucia nodded and led the two men through to the back of the apartment, out onto the narrow balcony, from which led a set of rickety, iron ladders, from floor to floor.

"Still just about functional – but don't step on the first or last step on the third floor, there's only rust holding those together."

"What are we doing?" asked Ianto.

"No time to explain – just follow my lead," instructed Jack, as if he always had a sidekick. Truth be told, he always worked alone – only his own skin to save, his own life to take risks with. This was all new to him. "When we get to the street, walk like you're an eighty-year-old who's been working down the mines his whole life. Got it?"

"Quick – get out of here!" urged Lucia, anxious to see the back of the man she called Richard. "Head for the canal, follow it to the west. That will take you to the Irish pub. Frankie will be expecting you."

Jack took Lucia's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her lips. He then gave her a roll of notes from Ianto's wallet that he'd fished out of the other man's coat pocket. The notes in his own wallet were still sodden and could possibly look suspicious if she used them before drying them out.

They'd taken their time walking along the canal, Jack insisting that they'd be better off walking as slow as possible, to avoid suspicion. With the shawl wrapped around his head and a stoop, Jack managed to look like an old woman, especially as he looped his arm into Ianto's elbow. Every now and then he'd point with his cane at a piece of rubbish and have Ianto pick up a scrap of cardboard to stuff into the sack he was carrying.

Ianto shuffled along the road, mimicking the gait of the old men he'd seen at the Miners' Welfare in his parents' village, back in the Valleys of Wales. A million miles from where he found himself, wearing an old raincoat and a threadbare woollen hat, that was causing his head to itch.

It was getting dark by the time they reached the bridge that spanned the river and the canal. Heavy traffic was building up as they reached the pub.

"Keep going," hissed Jack, steering Ianto towards the alley way just beyond the front of the ugly, grey-bricked building. The only colour on the whole street seemed to come from the bright green doors.

Once in the alleyway, Jack tore the shawl off and used it to wipe the rouge off Ianto's face. He then slipped out of the skirt, rolled his trouser legs down and fished his boots back out of the sack. Once they had adjusted their clothing, they looked less like poor, elderly Russians and more like western tourists. The borrowed clothing was wrapped up in the sack and dropped into large waste skip at the back of the pub.

To any onlooker, it would have appeared as if an elderly couple had gone down the side of the building in search of packaging to add to their sack and had crossed paths with two tall men, slightly scruffily dressed, who made their way confidently into Sally O'Brien's Irish pub.

"Hungry?" asked Jack as they threaded their way through a crowd towards the bar.

"Famished."

"Let's see if we can find time to have something to eat here."

At the tables, there were groups of tourists and ex-pats, watching the sports channel and eating plates of burgers and fries. Ianto was struck by the incongruous sight of bottles of Heinz tomato ketchup with Russian labels.

If Ianto hadn't been feeling hungry before, his stomach was grumbling as a barman shoved past him, carrying two plates of pork chops and mashed potato.

At the bar, Jack ordered two pints of Guinness and two Jameson whiskey chasers. He also asked for the menu and asked for a few items from the bar snacks selection.

"Chicken tenders, a portion of wings and a basket of fries, please. Fast as you can make it."

"Were you going to ask what I wanted?" asked Ianto indignantly. "Who's paying for this anyway? Me or you?"

"Sorry – you. My wallet got soaked. My phone, too."

"I'd have thought you would have carried a special waterproof phone."

"There's waterproof and there's icy river proof. It might work later, but for now we've got nothing."

"Shit."

"Here you go – drink the Guinness," Jack passed the first fully poured pint to Ianto, admiring the cloverleaf pattern in the thick, creamy foam. "It will revive you."

"So, that crap about not being much of a drinker?" asked Ianto, watching on as Jack sunk half his own pint, without it touching the sides.

"In the pub in Oxford?" Jack grinned as he wiped the forth from his upper lip.

"Yep," replied Ianto, casting his mind back to the last time he was in a drinking establishment with Jack – even though he thought his name was Robert at the time. "I take it that was another lie?"

"Yeah – you're onto me, I just can't help it." Jack shrugged and wondered what it was about Ianto Jones that made him want to be honest.

Taking a long, steady draft of his own pint, Ianto sighed with pleasure.

"Not bad, but it tastes better in Dublin."

"I hate Dublin," muttered Jack.

Before Ianto could ask why Jack hated Dublin, the barmaid reappeared and handed over two sets of cutlery wrapped in serviettes. Jack thanked her and then leant forward so he wouldn't be overheard.

"We're meeting a friend here – Frankie. Has she been in yet?"

"Over there, in the booth," the girl said quietly, looking over towards the back of the bar. "I'll bring your food over when it's ready."

Taking their pints and the chasers with them, they walked around the bar as if looking for seats. Ianto followed Jack's lead when he nodded and shuffled into the booth, Jack sitting on the outside to keep an eye and ear on what was going on around them. They were confronted with a dark-haired woman wearing a soft red beret and a bald-headed man wearing a leather jacket.

"You're late," said the woman, putting out her cigarette. "Where have you been?"

"Who's he?" asked Jack glaring at the bald-headed man.

"Don't fret, that's just Toli. He's my guardian. Looks out for me."

"You got my message then?"

"I heard you wanted to buy something from me. Souvenirs – I have some lovely old maps of the city."

"I'm not here to buy fake art. I need you to get us to the Embassy."

Frankie handed over a cardboard roll, inside of which were some prints of the city as it once was, however, in between the coloured prints was a set of blueprints.

"Are those maps of the tunnels?" asked Jack in hushed tones.

"Yes," replied Frankie pulling them away from him. "So, I think five thousand is a fair price for these exquisite prints. You won't get a better deal."

Jack pulled out Ianto's wallet from the coat he was still wearing and handed over five one thousand rouble notes. Frankie laughed in his face.

"Not roubles, dollars."

"How about pounds? I don't have any dollars?" asked Jack. "Call it, let's say, two hundred pounds and you've got a deal."

"Fine," agreed Frankie, handing over the cardboard tube that contained the prints in exchange for the bundle of twenty pound notes.

Ianto really hoped that Jack knew what he was doing – that was all the spare cash he had, apart from roubles.

"Of course, you will need someone to guide you," smirked Frankie as she watched Jack tuck the prints out of sight.

Jack scowled, he should have known there was a catch when she'd settled for a much lower price without haggling.

"Can you take us through them?"

"No. But I can put you in contact with a man who knows how to navigate through the water mains, sewers and other tunnels. His services are not cheap. I will need ten thousand dollars, up-front."

"No way. I told you we haven't got that kinda money."

"OK. Seven thousand and not a penny less."

"Jones?" asked Jack, not wanting to divulge his companion's first name in public. It was too unusual and could get them caught. "Got any more cash hidden on you anywhere?"

"You've got to be kidding, right?" Ianto rolled his eyes, wondering if Jack had any idea how much a research scientist got paid. He'd maxed out his credit cards just getting to Russia and booking into the swanky hotel.

"I take plastic," offered Frankie looking Jack in the eyes.

"You really think I'm gonna trust using my Visa card in this city?" asked Jack incredulously.

"If you can't or won't pay, I can't help you."

"What about that watch – Bulgari isn't it?" suggested Toli, glancing at the timepiece about Jack's wrist.

"It's a family heirloom," protested Jack. The only item left to him by the man who'd left him behind all those years ago. It was a watch that had everything, from a chronograph to a calendar. Its thick leather strap wasn't practical, but Jack wouldn't part with it for the world.

"How about this?" prompted Ianto, fetching an old stopwatch from the pocket of his trousers. "It's antique, got a button on the top and everything. Solid silver."

"Not as valuable as the Bulgari," murmured Frankie, taking the timepiece in her hand and weighing it up. "But it will do."

Ianto had seen the look in Jack's eyes when the bald guy had suggested he hand over his watch. It meant something to Jack – that much was clear. His stopwatch had sentimental value to him as well – but he was sure his father would have forgiven him if was necessary to trade it for the chance of him ever seeing his homeland again.

"You can have it when we get to the embassy," growled Jack, snatching the stopwatch out of Frankie's hand. "I'll be back to buy it off you. I'll be in touch – so don't sell it yet."

"I'll give you a week – if I don't get the money by then, I sell it."

At that moment in their negotiations, Toli hushed them as the barmaid appeared with the food that Jack had ordered. Once she had left the table, Frankie and Toli stood up as if takgin their leave of the two westerners who had shared their table.

"Wait until an hour after sunset. Call me on this number and I'll tell you where to meet us," muttered Frankie, as she scribbled a number on Jack's serviette. "There's going to be a protest outside the British Embassy tonight – there will be many police in the area. I would advise that you wait for us."

Then, as if by magic, both Frankie and her minder melted into the throng of people crowded near the rear exit and disappeared from sight.

"Couldn't we do it on our own?" asked Ianto. "We've got the maps. Do you trust them?"

"I always prefer to rely on local knowledge whether it's being given away for free or sold," muttered Jack, picking up a chicken tender and dipping it into the pot of sauce. "Eat up – I don't know when we'll next get to eat."

"What if they tell the police where to find us?"

"They won't," asserted Jack confidently. "Not until they've taken us for every penny they think we're worth. I reckon they're gonna want more cash before taking us to where we want to be."

"But we don't have any dollars-" Ianto started to protest.

"About that-" Jack began, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

"What?" exclaimed Ianto, nonplussed by Jack's ability to act as if there was no problem when they were both essentially hunted men.

"Cashpoint. There are codes that travellers can use to access cash if their cards get stolen-"

"But don't you have to call your bank?" asked Ianto naively. "Won't that alert-"

Ianto stopped mid-sentence as he heard Jack chuckling to himself.

"Do I look like the kinda guy to follow the rules?" Jack licked sauce from his lips and grinned at Ianto, a wicked sparkle in his eyes that told Ianto all he needed to know.


End file.
